


For Sunday, See Tuesday

by Anonymous



Series: Bookshop Opening Hours [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comeplay, Established Relationship, Fisting, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Just more filth, Multi, Threesome, Voyeurism, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 12:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The bookshop is closed on Sundays, too. Aziraphale has a third arrangement with Crowley and one nameless lucky Londoner’s fist.





	For Sunday, See Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. Well.   
I was going to leave the last one as a one shot but, uh, well the shop hours did say it’s closed on Sundays too and I couldn't help but think why...

It wasn’t wholly different on a Sunday; there was still decadence of course, but there were no hordes of men gracing the foyer. And it wasn’t every week, this particular pastime, but at least once a month. 

No, Sunday’s were for filling of a rather different kind.

More often than not, it was his arsehole. While his preference towards getting fucked had definitely swayed towards his cunt in recent months, there was just something so delicious about the stretch he’d feel as his hole was teased with fingers, toys, or sometimes a cock.

But all the teasing was just preparation for the main event, a good fucking had nothing on the feeling of more and more fingers pressing inside him, three, a push, four, the pinky slipping in, five, a thumb pressed to palm finally breaching, and then knuckles sliding past the slick rim and stretching and stretching and stretching.

A whole hand now, pushed up inside him, his hole taut around the huge mass as he would clutch at the duvet and sob his pleasure out into the morning sunlight. 

Hands and knees were always good for a fist-fucking, lube liberally poured to aid the push-pull and only added to the sloppy squelch as he was fucked up to the wrist. Nothing felt better than the feeling of that hand pulling out, leaving him open and empty and wanting, only to be shoved back in all in one go, all five fingers back inside him as quickly as they left, fucking him again and again. 

Nothing, perhaps, except the sight he was graced with when he was on his back. The looming form over him watching his arm sliding deeper and deeper, watching the bulge that would show through his belly even through the lovely layers of fat there. A shifting of fingers not only made him howl but made his stomach move with it, impossible evidence of how wonderfully filled he was. 

Crowley especially liked to watch this from Azirpahle’s angle, positioned behind him on the bed, holding his upper chest and whispering encouraging filth into the air as the lucky chosen man fisted Aziraphale deep and hard. 

He liked to feel it too, hand placed over his stomach as if he were pregnant, delighting as if he were feeling it kick. He’d always be so hard, dick pressing into Azirphale’s back, but he was so beautifully patient too, never pleasuring himself until after the nameless man left and they were alone.

Then he’d settle between Azirphale’s legs, stroking his cock as he watched the too-stretched rim pulse around nothing, begging for more. But the stretch for the night was over, and instead Crowley would fuck his own fist fast and hard until he spilled his come across the open hole, watching it slip inside, bubble up, and smear down his ample thighs. And then, only then, would Aziraphale let himself come, self-restrained orgasm delay making it ten times more intense, squirting into the sheets whether from his cock or his pussy, sprawling out against the bed when finished, boneless, wet, and so, so open. 


End file.
